


Many and Beautiful Things

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Butch/Femme, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Greg Lestrade, Female Mycroft Holmes, Ficlets, Genderswap, Humour, Relentless Sapphism, Romance, Sex, Well-Marked Angst, femstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: My collected Femstrade ficlets, exploring the lives of Georgie Lestrade and Minerva Holmes. A sapphic chocolate box of all-sorts.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 25
Kudos: 143





	1. Webcam

**Author's Note:**

> you will remember  
> for we in our youth  
> did these things  
> yes many and beautiful things
> 
> \- _If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho_ , translated by Anne Carson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced by current events to work from home via webcam, Minerva Holmes discovers the perils of telecommuting.

These video conference calls are a bloody nuisance. Thanks to the virus rampaging across the planet, Minerva has had to resort to them for a grand total of two days now, more than enough time for her to decide she loathes the entire concept with every atom of her being. The bloody things are an even greater waste of her patience than the face-to-face meetings which already blighted her days. She hates that she's been forced to realise how truly inept most of her peers are with technology. Her high-definition webcam makes the rest of them look like they're working from home in the middle of the sea. Every five minutes, someone is interrupted by a doorbell, a spouse bearing a cup of tea, or a dog bursting into Daddy's home office with excited noisy children in pursuit. 

_ But we're not able to discuss this properly over email,  _ they protest. 

They mean they're not able to satisfy their egos by arguing endlessly over trivial details. In the end, they will agree to do whatever Minerva told them to do in the first three minutes of the call. They have no choice. It is the best course of action and they all know it.

They just want to make a tedious show of  _ contributing. _

"And naturally," Minerva sighs to her webcam, watching the world's most powerful people flicker and lag in fifteen separate windows spread out across her screen, "while you can expect a short delay to occur between the commencement of these policies and the time when tangible effects are measured, this strategy remains the least inefficient option available to us."

A few sage nods are given, a few thoughtful frowns. A bald gentleman tilts back in his chair, folding his arms in annoyance across his chest. From this angle he looks like a cross between a joint of ham and a thumb.

"If you'd care to see the results that followed a similar course of action taken in 1999," Minerva says, "I will email those to you once this meeting is concluded. I'm sure you'll all be quite satisfied as to the outcome."

"But are we certain this is gonna fix things  _ quick enough?" _ the thumb demands. His voice splinters wildly through the speakers; Minerva tries not to wince. "We can't wait much longer, Holmes! We're needing solutions! Now!"

Minerva quietly presses her teeth into the side of her tongue.

"No," she says. "We are not certain. It's for the simple reason that this is  _ not _ a quick fix. There  _ are _ no quick fixes. If they existed, I would currently be reporting their overwhelming success to you, having told you to implement them a month ago."

"And what're we meant to say to the people who're demanding quick fixes, huh?"

Minerva snorts. "I'd recommend your usual method of outright lies based on hot air and nonsense," she replies, cold.

As he splutters at her, appalled, and several other people weigh in to make their pointless opinions known, there comes a strange clunk and squeak from near to Minerva. She assumes with a frown that it's feedback from too many duelling microphones, then catches a flash of movement in her own video feed. The bedroom door behind her left shoulder is opening, mirrored on the screen. 

Before Minerva can even draw breath, it pushes open wide.

Georgie appears in the frame, half-asleep and rubbing her right eye with the heel of her hand. A koi print silk dressing robe, sourced during Minerva's last trip to Beijing, hangs from her broad shoulders—but hangs open. Beneath it, she's as naked as the day she was born, her bare body and rebellious-youth tattoos on display for all to see. Her dark hair is soft and wild, scruffed onto end so the silver in it shines, still dishevelled from the activities of the night before.

"Gorgeous?" she mumbles, heaving a yawn, oblivious to Minerva's sudden impression of a marble statue. A deafening silence echoes from the speakers. "Should've woken me... didn't realise you got up already..."

Minerva's eyes fly towards the screen of her laptop. Her expression is reflected perfectly in the faces of fifteen horrified world leaders, all staring back at her in wide-eyed astonishment. In full sight of the camera, Georgie idles up behind Minerva's desk chair, wraps her muscled arms around Minerva's torso and squeezes her.

"Mhm..." She catches Minerva's ear between her teeth, tugging. Minerva's cheeks flood red in an instant. "What're you doing at the laptop this early, darlin'? Everyone knows you're only meant to start working from home at eleven."

"Ahh—G-Georgina, I—"

"Your spreadsheets'll still be waiting for you in an hour. C'mon. Come back to bed." Georgie smirks, nosing at Minerva's cheek. "I'll make it worth your while," she husks, reaches out a hand, and closes the lid of Minerva's laptop without looking. The gaping men and women there fold away from sight. One soft little snap, and they're gone.

_ Well, _ Minerva thinks.

The next conference call will be interesting at least.


	2. Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday, and that means Georgie is in charge. [Sex; Subby Minerva]

Min needs this sometimes—this absolute lack of control. She rules the world and everyone in it from Monday to Friday, then the weekend rolls around, and she's a subject of Georgie's kingdom again. 

It's taken time to find their way here. Trust has grown over their bond like climbing ivy, things tried, things tested, some discounted. Some have been kept. 

This one's been a favourite ever since the first time.

Georgie only ever leaves her for twenty minutes at a time—enough to make a cup of tea and drink it, wash a few pots, maybe fold some laundry. Min's told her the wait feels like long hours and mere seconds at once. There's something pretty intoxicating about sitting downstairs in the lounge, watching ten minutes of TV but seeing nothing whatsoever on the screen. The sight waiting for her upstairs is too pretty to put out of her mind.

As Georgie nudges open the bedroom door, her wife's head inclines at once towards the sound.

"Darling?" Min gasps. Her wrists flex in desperation against their bonds; colour floods her face beneath the blindfold. "D-Darling..."

Georgie says nothing, strolling slowly and idly to the end of the bed. The muscles in Min's thighs tense and release, spread wide open for her gaze. 

Min moans a little at her silence, biting down, trembling already.

"Please," she whispers, swallowing. "Please, darling—please—p-please, I need..."

Georgie smiles to herself, taking a minute more just to enjoy this view: the restless rise and fall of Min's breasts, the curling of her fingers around the velvet restraints. Georgie bought them in periwinkle blue so they'd be pretty against her skin and her ruffled chestnut hair. The colour makes her body look as soft and white as new snow, save for the prettiest and most secret parts of her. They're flushed rose pink with longing for what she needs, her nipples tightened into peaked little buds. She's the most mouth-watering sight on this planet, and she's for Georgie's eyes alone.

Unbuttoning her shirt sleeves, Georgie rolls them slowly back to the elbow. This gets messy; Min's been dripping wet ever since the first twenty minute wait. As Georgie's weight rocks the mattress, Min whimpers, tightening, throwing back her head against the pillows.

"Georgina—" she cries out, shaking. _"Please—"_

Sometimes Georgie teases her between waits, sometimes treats her nicely. It's all part of the fun on these Sunday afternoons. Min never knows if she's going to get what she needs this time or be wound up even more, left for another twenty minutes to pull against her ties and pant. She's been a good girl this weekend, though—not sneaking glances at her phone during dinner, not answering emails after six. Good behaviour gets rewarded.

Georgie trails a few little kisses along her snowy inner thighs, listening to her pant. She gives a fond and gentle bite or two, just to remind Min that she can—that it's Sunday, and it's Georgie who rules the world on Sundays. 

She then slides the point of her tongue in one long, lascivious stripe between Min's legs, finishing at her clit with a firm and hungry flash.

Min's back bows upwards off the mattress. Her hips try to buck and she cries, then starts to beg at such a pitch she's incoherent, wrenching at her ankle ties. The bed holds her perfectly in place, right where she's meant to be.

Humming, sliding both arms beneath Min's thighs, Georgie settles in to make her scream.


End file.
